


Brush of True Love’s Lips

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate ‘True Love’ Meaning, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Healing, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-08-23 14:10:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16620521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Uther does not cry. He has not cried since the night Arthur was born and Ygraine died. But as he sits over his son for the fifth night, he finds himself close to tears. He strokes the blond fringe, damp with sweat, from Arthur’s burning forehead.





	Brush of True Love’s Lips

Uther has been by Arthur’s side for hours. Since they brought him in, enchanted and asleep. He’s curious about this particular spell, about the way it played out. Had his son not fallen into a disturbed slumber after Vivian had rejected his advances, they might never have suspected magical interferences at all.

As it is, Arthur tosses in his sleep. He cries out as if he is in pain, and tears curl down his cheeks, pool in his ears. It’s as if, Uther hesitates, as if his old friend Gaius is right. Arthur’s heart is breaking over and over.

Sometimes Uther can see the besotted organ hurling itself against Arthur’s breastbone. Trying to escape, to chase after that which it so desperately seeks.

“True love, Sire. That’s all we need.” Gaius speaks from the doorway, startling the King.

“Yes, but who is Arthur’s true love?”

Gaius gives him a small shrug, a cryptic eyebrow. “Who is to say he only has one?” Gaius leaves then, with no other answer.

Uther goes back to staring at his son. It surprises him how young the boy looks, haloed by a few dying candles. Sometimes he forgets Arthur is just a boy. He stands so tall, so proud. His head high as he challenges Uther, as he makes his own way in this world. He will be a great king one day. If he learns to temper his affections.

\--

Uther does not cry. He has not cried since the night Arthur was born and Ygraine died. But as he sits over his son for the fifth night, he finds himself close to tears. He strokes the blond fringe, damp with sweat, from Arthur’s burning forehead.

He doesn’t know how many people have slipped in to plant kisses on Arthur’s cheeks, his lips. He’s seen Morgana’s serving girl in here more than once. Has seen Arthur’s own servant hovering in the doorway. Before he’d entered tonight, he’d almost thought to shove the boy in and force his head down.

True love probably doesn’t work under command though, so he’d let the servant slip by him wide-eyed and grief stricken.

Sometimes he thinks its his own fault that no one has awoken his boy. He knows he isn’t the gentles of fathers, or the most conscientious. He’s heavy handed and abrupt in his reproach, and he demands much of his son.

He’d give everything up, his kingdom, his crown, just to see those defiant blue eyes. 

In a rare moment of affection, Uther leans down and plants a kiss on Arthur’s forehead.

He doesn’t cry. Won’t cry, but he begs. “Wake up, son. Please.”

He falls asleep in his chair.

\--

When Uther wakes, the candles have burned out, the air is a cool breeze, and everything is silent. It takes him a few moments to riddle out what awoke him. Snoring.

Instead of the frantic cries, the constant shifting, Arthur is curled on his side and snoring gently. Uther holds his gasp, reaches a hand out to brush his fringe. The sweat has dried and his son is no longer an inferno.

His touch causes Arthur to stir, to blink slowly. “Father? What are you doing in my chambers?”

  
  



End file.
